


Drunken Words

by xHonestSecretsx



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Cheating, Daddy gonna fuck you up, F/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-12 09:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16869997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHonestSecretsx/pseuds/xHonestSecretsx
Summary: After taking his bride out for a romantic evening, Hvitserk wakes up in bed with twin blondes. Now having to deal with what he’s done, he attempts to turn his wife back to him. The twins have another idea.





	1. Chapter I: Twins

[](https://66.media.tumblr.com/1af60ef5ebcb2e579b89e5c33d4f18ab/tumblr_pdw994jp0h1v19l0n_500.jpg)

He messed up.

A wedding to celebrate, a bottle of mead and two bimbos later– he found himself in a bed smashed between two blondes and a killer headache. When he woke up, he all but fell out of this strange bed looking for you: his wife of four years and mother to his newborn son. It all came rushing back to him.

_Just the two of us?_

__

__

Torvi said she could watch him.

_I’m so happy!_

He loosely bore his belt over his tunic and pants. He knew his brothers would be joking about this at breakfast– and he couldn’t wash off the sin that was the smell of those two whores in some random bed. No his smell would be of no help to him here. No one would fine him for being a prince and sleeping with a few useless sluts.

“Hvitserk!” Ubbe called. Sigurd straightened his back and that look bore on Ivar’s face spelled trouble. A swell of panic swirls in his chest when he finds you by his mother and Ivar, combing the soft curls of his son’s blonde hair. When you look up, fear snuffed out any brotherly pride he might have had to share with his brothers.

“How were they!” Ubbe grabbed his shoulder, shaking him like a limp straw doll. The words snuffed out of Hvitserk’s lips before he responded.

“Who?” He asks dumbly.

“The blondes.” Sigurd sets his ass aflame with that and anger resuscitates in his chest when he’s thrown to the wolves by his young brother.

“You’re not helping.” He mouths to his brother in a singsong hum, head bent so a shadow might cast over his lips. His muscles were burning under the heat of your glare– or perhaps it was his guilt, because when his eyes cast over to you, you weren’t looking at him. In fact, the only thing you were doing was babying his son like the good fucking mother you were while he had just gotten his cock fucked and balls sucked at the same time hours ago.

“It is fine.” You say, standing up out of the heavy wooden chair in a pristine dress. As you pass him, your lips dip against his. “I know when I’m not wanted after yesterday.”

A cloud of mead filled his head over yesterday. He remembered taking you to the wedding and even inviting you to a dance but never how he ended up with two fat asses in his bed rather than your curves that never failed to bring him a salacious grin.

“(Y/N)!” Hvitserk follows you out of the hall, grasping the keys on your skirt to make you stop. You whirl around in a storm of derision,

“Oh yes now it is (Y/N)! (Y/N)! Now that you can’t tell me to get lost like yesterday!” You snap so sharply that he is thrown off. “Because my ass is flat and pussy sucks!”

“I don’t remember telling you tha…”

He remembers. Suddenly he remembers being hit on by a pair of twins looking for a little princely cock. The sear of hatred in your eyes when you came back with his mead after being distracted by the groom for a few minutes. Enough for him to get sloshed.

_–I don’ wan’ your pussy._

_You’re drunk._

_I’m happy! Look I got two round assesss… yours got flat with the baby._

Dread. His words bled into utter dread at the words that he said so sloshed. You had just had his son. A beautiful boy that he wouldn’t take back for the world. The cacophony of his words kept buzzing around in his head. How harshly you sobbed that Hvitserk had said such things– and how you ran off in hot tears for his mother’s room. The hands tight on your skirt dropped.

_He knew fucked up._

_The garb he bore, behind, before,_

_With pitch he pies and streaks;_

_And ever the by-name he had of yore_

_Was Ragnar Lothbrok._

_You were mocking him in there._

Singing of the father that was so famous when you new that he had nothing but contempt for the man’s decisions in life. Then again, he left you last night for a fair piece of hips and mead that had made his lips so loose that he said something that wasn’t true. He finally broke into his home, catching your soft sway around an open fire. In your hands you held his son, wrapped in warm fabrics. His arms folded firmly one over another, waiting until the wiggles completely snuffed out. Then your eyes raised, meeting his for the last lines of the song tonight.

_Fair Tora shall learn_

_How little I fear thee._

The words slipped off her tongue and with a sharper sigh, you set his son into his bassinet beside the bed he shared.

“My love…” Hvitserk’s willowy fingers extend towards your shoulders. The second they connect, he feels your shoulders going rigid under his touch. “(Y/N)…”

“I set out your bowl already.” You mumble softly, dipping your head down to pull off your many jewels that he always brought you back from raiding. Hvitserk’s hands slip off of your shoulders, replacing themselves to form an interlacing along your waist.

“I want to go to bed.” You chew your cheek, arms peppering like gooseflesh under his touch. Your eyes had a wet sheen that you try to shield when he shifts you to face him.

“I didn’t mean what I said.” Hvitserk tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, tipping your chin up. His eyes are stark, honest. He only said it last night to hurt you– and you aren’t sure which would be worse. Actually having a flat ass or being so undesirable last night that Hvitserk would say such a thing.

“Does that change anything? You cheated on me.” You say, resting your hand to his chest.

It wasn’t entirely uncommon. Men and women cheated on each other and it was fine. But you never thought that your Hvitserk, who said he loved you so much, would do that to you like his brother Bjorn. You supposed he did raid with him; it was natural that he would pick up some bad habits.

“I know. I know.” Hvitserk drops down to his knees, hands against your hips with his head dropping against your swollen stomach. It had yet to go completely down following the hours you spent sobbing and pushing out his only son. His hands hold your hips. “I made a mistake. Please don’t make me go. Please.”

Your hand connected with the beginning of his braids, sighing as you listened to his desperation. The Ragnarsson was begging like a baby after milk. That was never something you liked to see. He was supposed to be proud. Your hands slip under his arms to tug him back up to stand.

“You can stay for tonight. Just as long as you don’t look so… sad.”

An agreement then. But as he tugs you against his chest, winding his arms around the back of your head, you don’t know what to say. So you sway quietly with him under the moonlight that steam in through the slight windows.


	2. Chapter II: Enjoying the View

“I want to make a baby with you.”

It was Hvitserk’s idea. It was no spur of the moment decision to have a baby with you. Instead of dragging his cock out to cum over your mound, he finally wanted to cum deep inside your warmth.

“Hvitserk. Are… are you sure?” You moaned, reaching back to hold his cheek affectionately. Your hands stroke the fuzzy hairs of his sideburns, urging him to go on. His thrusts become erratic.

“More than anything. You need to be my children’s mother.” Hvitserk moaned out.

You had never heard something so arousing.

But now he was in a dry spell.

You had not made it secret that you were struggling to keep this marriage together. The twins had been ruthless. They were cruel in their words against you, seeking you out. To them “princess” was a title that could easily change.

“He picked us because he wants us.” One chirps loudly as you pick meats for the day. She was gaudy and loud. Born to a merchant, it showed on the elaborate gemstones that kiss her ears.

“Yes!” Says the other, picking a fruit from your fingers. “Why don’t you divorce him? Make it easy for us, princess. He only took minutes to warm our bed.”

You knew it was true. After all, you had only gone to congratulate the groom. Your eyes were focusing intently on a piece of butchered chicken as if it would be able to grant you omnipotence. The apple didn’t land far from the tree. Both of his parents were adulterous. It was foolish for you to think he would treat you like a wife.

“We could take care of him far better. Two is better than one!”

You weren’t about to argue with them. It wasn’t worth it— but Hvitserk had made it clear that night. Your body? It was subpar.

“Leave her alone. Now.” You recognize the voice. A man with long blonde hair that waves with salt air. The sides of his head are cut trim. He turns upon them with an axe in his tense hand. It isn’t Sigurd, but you recognize the man as his friend. The girls scuttle off.

“Where is Sigurd, Skane?” You ask while taking up the last of your ingredients. He turns his almond shaped eyes down to you.

“You need to tell Hvitserk.” Skane says.

Would it make a difference? He sees it in your eyes, pleading for him to let it go. Skane sighs.

“Come.”

Skane brought you out of Kattegat into the private springs where you knew the Ragnarssons liked to bathe. They could have been there at this moment. Skane bent low near a small fall of water.

“What are we doing here?” You ask him.

“Go relax. You’ve earned some time off. I’ll keep watch.” The blond smiles at you. You can’t deny that it’s been some time since you enjoyed the solitude. So you sigh and wait for him to turn away. Your clothes peel off your skin like heavy weights. The hair you had pinned up tumbles down your shoulders to lighten the load on your head. There’s some worry that Skane is watching— but as you turn around, he’s lazily shaving a chunk of wood.

Free. You dip forth into the pelting water of the waterfall naked as the day you were born. It’s reflective. Your curves that hardly shine as brilliantly as those women’s. You gave birth to a Hvitserksson. Under the harsh falling waters, you never hear the cackling laughs come near.

You hadn’t let him touch you once since those two bumbling blonde bimbos got him in bed with them. The only thing he had was his fucking hand tight around his cock since. He was trying to behave… never asking you when he came home for sex.

It was fucking messing with him.

And it hadn’t even been so long.

He missed the sight of your naked body in bed with his. He missed tucking your head under his, peppering kisses atop of your head and nuzzling you into sleep. He missed being your protector rather than your abuser.

“You’re fucked, Hvitserk.” Ubbe speaks as the eldest of brothers slips into the water. Behind him, Hvitserk anchors a raft for their youngest of brothers. Ivar sits shirtless, floating there.

“I know that Ubbe.” Hvitserk snaps. Usually he is the quiet one. The one watching the drama unfold and quietly observing– but now, he’s made himself a mess. He sighs at the splashing of Sigurd entering the waters, purposefully splashing them as he came close with braids flattening out his fluffy hair.

“So what will you do to fix it?” Sigurd asks. “Before word gets to her father?”

Sigurd’s words held weight. Your father was one of those kinds of men. If he found out how Hvitserk defiled your honour, he knew that he would be beating down his door and challenging him to hand to hand combat.

“Wait for her to get over it.” Hvitserk supposes.

Ivar chalks a laugh and folds his arms. “You’re more stupid than I thought. A girl like that taking second best?”

“Like what?” He asks. His words evade Hvitserk. There are a lot of things he could say to describe you. Did he mean how smart you were? If so, Hvitserk knew that. He knew you would make him a syncopathic man, kissing your feet and asking if he could bake the bread for dinner instead.

Ivar flicks his head above them to the waterfall. “Isn’t that her?”

He snaps his head to the side at the suggestion. At first he thought Ivar was jesting. Surely, you were at home doing your chores and taking care of little Skari, his son. Like a good wife– but the closer he looks, the quicker he realizes that it is you. That figure is undeniable.

Under the misting water that spills out from the cliff, you stood upon smooth rocks. Your naked frame moistens by the thundering falls, curves etched out in front of your natural surroundings. Like a goddess in the mist, he can’t turn his eyes away from you for a second. He knew his brothers couldn’t either.

“Wha…” Hvitserk stutters. He splashes past Ubbe.

“Her ass doesn’t look flat to me. Her hips look round.” Ivar chitters, reclining on his forearms now. Your long hair spills over your arms as you wash it, the tips of long strands tickling the curve of your ass.

“She is a mother.” Sigurd insists. “She’s bound to have baby birthing hips.”

It’s probably a harmless that his brothers see your body. After all, they wouldn’t do anything without his permission. He was your husband. You needed him for everything… right? You needed him, you needed him!

“(Y/N)!” Hvitserk calls out to deaf ears. 

“Let her be, she’s bathing.” The waters shift as Ubbe swims forward. “Besides, your brothers are enjoying the view.”

He hates the effect that Ubbe has on him. He can go from certain of the wishes on his tongue to submissive, bowing his head as Ivar’s ringing whistles out into the distance. The sound catches your ear this time, spinning around to find that tricky bastard Skane isn’t where he said he would be. Really, he was nowhere to be found.

Neither were your clothes.

“Ah!” You aren’t sure what to cover– your breasts, perking with milk and erect nipples under the water. Or better yet your shaved mound that his brothers had no business seeing. None of them look away. Hvitserk’s ears are nearly pink, hot and angry. You rush down from the rowdy falls and use your long hair to cover your breasts in some fashion as you make it to the brothers.

“Hello (Y/N).” Sigurd is the first to chirp.

You nod to him. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to see a lot. If that’s what you’re asking.” Ivar answers for Hvitserk– who shoves you toward the shoreline away from his brothers. Whatever his brothers had saw, the ramifications of their peeping was coming. Fast.


	3. Chapter III: A New Father

“Where are your clothes?”

It wasn’t a trick question but you felt it was. Mainly because you had no idea where your clothes were. Or where Skane had gone off to. One moment he was there, the other second he wasn’t. You look to the basket of goodies that he left as if it might help deter Hvitserk from his thought.

“Skane must have taken them.” You insist.

Hvitserk looks over his shoulder to his brothers, still laughing jauntily and leaning as if to look over Hvitserk’s frame at your body that drips with water. Ubbe wears a mischievous smile. Hvitserk bends down to his pile of clothes and pushes a tunic against your chest.

“You were bathing with Skane?” Hvitserk asks, his voice unnecessarily sharp. Not after his night with the twins. He had no right to be jealous of something that never even happened. But even if it did– Hvitserk had been the one to do that first. You pull the tunic over your head, tugging the edges of your new dress that covered shockingly less than you hoped it would.

“No, he was helping me relax. After your women came after me–”

“They’re not my women. You’re my woman.” Hvitserk cuts you off. Your arms fold as you turn away from him, bending to pick up your basket. Obviously, you don’t believe him. You lean over, looking past Sigurd to the oldest brother.

“Ubbe? Could you take me home?” You say. Hvitserk raises his hands to his chest as if to insist that no! He could do it! Ubbe splashes out of the water, his slacks sopping wet. Water drips down his face as he comes beside you.

“Let’s go.” He motions his hands forward, one finding the middle of your back to walk you home. With Hvitserk left to manage Sigurd and Ivar, he knows this discussion will have to wait for another time.

“You’re losing her.” Sigurd calls after a brief moment. Ubbe bobs behind you.

He hates that he knows its true.

There’s a familiarity between Ubbe and you.

Sometimes you wished that you could explain what it is. It’s never as present as it is when Ubbe and you are alone. You walk idly with him back towards your shared home. It was about time for your sons nap. He could sleep for hours at a time. It’s a pleasant break from being a caretaker of a home or constant mother. Of course at any time you could push him upon your thralls but guilt kept you from doing such a thing.

Ubbe slides on his tunic over his slender muscles before thrusting on his vest. The deep wooded forest falls awkwardly silent.

“The twins have been bothering you?”

It was a statement more than a question. Clearly he knew that they had been.

“They want him.” You say, unbeknownst to the tone in which you said it. Ubbe picks it up quickly– as if you’re too tired to deal with it all. You were. You were too tired to fight the twins on keeping a husband who really didn’t respect you.

It was meant to be a special night.

“Do you?” Ubbe jots beside you. When you don’t answer, he cuts in front of you, swaying with his hand to the thick strands of his beard. Your steps come to an abrupt stop when you suddenly are faced with the words. Was love so easy to say yes or no to? It should have been.

“He’s the father of my child.” You stare blankly at Ubbe’s tunic, gazing at the way it fell flatly on his chest. Ubbe dips down to look you in the eye.

“Do you love him?”

Quite suddenly you can’t make out the words. Ubbe’s tongue rolls along his lower lip with a small grunt as if– he knew you wouldn’t be able to give him a definitive answer from the get go. Before he can pull away, you grip his thick wrist.

“I don’t want to raise my child alone.” You look down. “I am worried he is becoming Bjorn.”

“If you don’t want to be with him, you don’t have to. I can raise him instead.” He moves back to take your hand in his. Is it an offer of marriage? Or an offer to be a father if Hvitserk could not be?

“You would be his father?” You ask.

“Of course.” Ubbe hardly skips a beat. What were you to do with that knowledge? Did it make it easier to alienate Hvitserk as a father? Sure, of course. But that was never the goal you had as a mother.

You wish that staring into his eyes would give you the answer, but the blatant honesty on his face gives you no more answers than you had before. Then a thought beats around your mind like a bullet, unrelenting in what you know to be true. You heave a heavy breath.

“Did you… send Skane after me, Ubbe?”

Hvitserk knows that he has to take care of these girls.

You don’t believe him when he said that they weren’t his. They very well could have been his if he had done this the right way… but he knew you. He knew that you would leave if he took another wife. As it stood– he was about to lose you anyway. The trip to the merchant’s stand was awkward enough as it was. The man stood there with pricey artifacts from foreign countries, heavy furs around his blond hair with a ware in his hand.

“Prince Hvitserk! Welcome!”

From another area, he could hear the girls squeaking. Prince Hvitserk is here! He is!? Keep himself focused, he reminds himself. He could easily lose himself in memory of the scattered moments that night. A blonde on his lap while another rode his face for any pleasure he could dish out.

“What have you come to find, hm? To ask for Ádísa’s hand? Or Rán’s?” The merchant hands off the item in his hand to his son’s, thrusting his thick arm around Hvitserk’s shoulders to snug himself close. It’s off putting to begin with– but the twins had clearly told this old man of their night together. His blue eyes are glistening and wet.

“I have a wife.” Hvitserk says as they turn away from the twins for a stroll.

The old man stops, shoving his hand into his pockets. “Of course! But you can take a concubine. Or two. You’re a prince!”

Hvitserk stops cold, turning to face the man. He removes his fingers off of his shoulder, glancing toward the merchant’s stand once more. There the blondes were with fingers wiggling at Hvitserk as if they hadn’t known what mess they had made for him. They just didn’t care.

“I came to ask you to tame your daughters.”

When the merchant only gives him a loose and weak smile, Hvitserk knows he wouldn’t be of much help. “Of course! Of course!”

Hvitserk turns for home. Something in his mind was telling him that it might have already been too late. What could a man do?

Flowers. You loved flowers, right?


	4. Chapter IV: My Father

Foreign sails glitter on the horizon where the two blonde brothers stood. The water laps with a violent churn along the belly of the finely made boats. Not as fine as Floki’s crafting– but lovely indeed. The sail itself flew an image of a curling green dragon on the background of a woolen beige sail.

“Vapnir is here.” Skane looks to his friend’s fluffy blonde hair whipping over to his back in the wind.

“Hvitserk isn’t going to be ready for this.” Sigurd says, broad arms folding one over another. Kattegat was defenseless– and there was no one who would stand in the way of a king. In the same coin, Hvitserk knew what he was getting to when he proposed to you. Should Sigurd have felt bad?

Of course, his older brother was in trouble. He had to find Bjorn– Ubbe.

“Lets go find him.”

“He’s here to kill the prince!”

“Nonsense, then Skari would be a bastard.”

He knew he was fucked. He was fucked before– when you wanted to leave him. But if he was fucked before, he was certainly fucked now. Here he was, hiding in a pin where Vapnir’s men marched by. He had intended to buy flowers and see his beautiful wife with an apology.

“Odin…” He curses, peeping out from behind a fat pig. There were men everywhere, searching for the pretty prince, or so they said. Hvitserk loosens his braids at that very moment, falling about his chest as he pushes out from the pin, squeezing past house after house with his head hung low. Dirt and muck? Each step of his foot was like a dance with the norns, praying no one would recognize his footing. His pride was in the ditch, passing the entrance to the Great Hall where Bjorn fell into an argument with Vapnir.

“You have these boys untamed!” Vapnir hisses from within the Great Hall’s walls. Hvitserk presses close despite the army at the heels of the Great Hall’s entrance. Hvitserk hugs the dark wall of the great hall.

“These things happen.” Bjorn reasons with the king. “Many men cheat on their wives.”

“He swore on my sword he would care for her. Now I find he is sleeping with twins? I deserve my vengeance!” The tall man paces from one direction to another, pounding his feet by the sound of it. “My princess deserves her morgengifu and heimen fylgia.”

There’s some silence from his brother.

“Have you thought of speaking to her yourself? Not all women leave their men.” Mother says. Hvitserk snorts. Yeah, not all women were like Lagertha. He was thankful for the thought that you were a gentle, sweet wife.A gentle edged sword when you were beloved by your people.

“Hey! You can’t be listening!”

Hvitserk jerks his head to the left of him, finding several warriors donned in their furs come barreling for him with hands baring axes. Hvitserk’s hand snaps to his belt and he rushes into the alleyway, boots sopping wet when he stomps into a large puddle coating child and mother in the muck.

“It’s the prince Hvitserk!” The child says.

“Get him!”

Shit, shit, shit!

Never did he hate a child so much. Behind he hears them wailing for the king, her father. His exit is blocked with another sum of guards. With no other choice he scales the tall gate of a pin, thrusting himself onto the roof like a rat avoiding a broom. The woosh of a spear hurls into the fuzzy tops of the buildings– but Hvitserk is gone, leaping roof to roof in his quest for safety.

It definitely wouldn’t be there.

“Fadir is here?”

Sigurd came in to warn you. If your father was here that meant his Great Army was here as well. Ubbe sat upon a reclining chair with his nephew on his sprawled on his chest, eyebrows furrowing at the news of their new arrival.

“Hvitserk?” He asks.

“We’re looking. Bjorn is holding Vapnir back.” Sigurd folds his arms one over another. Hvitserk being unaccounted for could be good. It could also be bad.

“You have to find him. Father will kill him.” You turn to the doorway of your silent home.

Hvitserk! You call. Hvitserk!

Ubbe pulls you away from the door, his hand supporting the rump of his nephew Skari. “Shhh.” He warns. “Don’t call him. Where do you suppose your father is coming next?”

If you gazed one way, you might be able to make out the stomping of the army through the alleyway headed this way. You know it’s your fathers. He flies his flag, after all. You push out Sigurd instead.

“Have Ivar track him. Get him out of here, hurry!”

Sigurd falls out of the doorway and looks both ways, heading out of the home without a further word thrown to you. You rush to fuss over trivial things– warm bread, ale and a raging fire to keep the whole place warm. It reeks of your discomfort when the heavy knocking of the door causes it to rattle on its hinges.

You look to Ubbe for some consolation. He stands straight, his hand on your back while guiding you back to open the door. His stormy grey eyes are the first thing you see, accentuated by the heavy braids pulled back into a dark blue wrap. In his early fourties, he could still easily take Hvitserk. He is trained. He has waged years of battle. Hvitserk– was young.

It’s him.

“Fadir.”


	5. Chapter V: Daddie is Home!

In many ways, Hvitserk reminded you of your father Vapnir. Both lean, swift berserkers could be playful and sweet. Your father was aged by his time raiding and capturing– and he had someone else on his mind to capture.

“Fadir…” You look to him, moving in despite the exhaustion in his eyes.

“Where is he?” He asks, sweeping through the room quickly. His eyes lock upon Ubbe in the room, tilting his head just so slightly to the right, twitching in his agitation. Ubbe’s hand rests upon his nephews plump little butt.

“Vapnir.” He takes a breath as if to go on before Vapnir leans in with his grey eyes brewing dreams of Hvitserk’s slaughter.

“Where is he?” He asks in something of a statement.

“He is not here. We can’t find him.” Ubbe answers truthfully. It doesn’t hurt him to be honest either. You rush to his side, clinging on his elbow like any little girl. The calm filters through Vapnir’s body when you do so. Before you can speak any farther, he combs his fingers through your hair.

“Don’t worry.” He says. “Fadir will fix it.”

With that, he turns his harsh eyes back to the door. He is a hunter as much as Ragnar, as much as Ubbe. You know that he will not stop until he has ran through Hvitserk on his sword. He was a natural protector of your honor. Hvitserk’s drunken words had gotten around town.

“Please–”

“No matter what Bjorn says, it isn’t natural that a man should sleep around on his wife.” He begins to rant. You interject again, insisting that he listen. He does no such thing, jerking his hand against the plank of wood stripped across the door. “After I have ran him through, he will go to Nidhoggr to deal with his treatment.”

You chase him to the doorway of your home, finally gasping out your complaint. “Fadir I gave birth to his child!”

His grip on the door loosens altogether. Unbelievably his eyes take you in before snapping to Ubbe whose pale hands pat Skari’s back. “I am a grandfather?”

Whatever the rage he came into Kattegat for, his eyes glitter like the sun beating off the sea. You’re just as delighted to see the pride his words. You nod eagerly. “To a little boy.”

A boy. He glances to Ubbe as if to ask if that was him. You give him a nod of agreement and so he moves forward, removing the infant from Ubbe’s shoulder to his own chest. Little Skari whines against his grandfather for some short time while he rocks him back and forth around the room, never more in love since the day he held you in his toned arms once upon a time.

“That means I can’t spill his guts, can I, little…”

“Skari.” You answer.

“Skari.” He flicks his head for Ubbe to move and takes his seat, axe and sword clinking over the chair. Instead he brings his axe over his side. He shifts to drape his axe across his lap while resting in his grandparent bliss.

“Then I will beat him. But your mother cannot stay here.” He sighs, draping back his head. “So what is the solution, hm?”

If it is invitation to speak, you’re not sure. Kattegat has become your home over the last few years. You would miss the Fjord on the horizon, your cozy little home and the family you grew close to over the time Hvitserk became so enthralled in you. You suppose it is true– the affections of men never stayed long at all. Even with such little women, he was a prince. He could surely find another.

“You can come home or find an earl to marry.” He suggests at long last. “Gather your things.”

You notice a cluster of your father’s men picking up a chest to set on your shared marital bed with Hvitserk. They encourage you to hurry up and leave despite the fact that no, you don’t want to leave the place you called home. It’s almost hopeless for you when you realize that you can’t exactly speak against a well respected man like your father. All you can do is declare yourself divorced from Hvitserk, go home and start over again. You shift, looking to the men folding your clothes lazily like only the hands of a man could.

“She can marry me.” Ubbe speaks walks forward to your father, standing with his legs lazily spread apart. He holds his hands in front of his body. Vapnir lacks the humor for Ubbe’s so deemed joke.

“You’re eager to steal your brother’s wife.” Vapnir says, pushing up in his chair with his axe in his hand. He presses the sharpened edge against Ubbe’s sternum, leaning in with his grandson in arm. “Why is that?”

“Fadir.” You cut in like you have been trying to do all day. That was how it always was when you were with your father. Father, please don’t do this.

“Shh.” He hisses.

“I might desire her.” Ubbe shifts annoyed with the prospect of answering. Vapnir seems to accept the answer when he flips the axe around so that the thickest potion prods his chest. He leans back on the heels of his boots as if inspecting his newest potential son in law.

“Yeah?” Vapnir breathes a low draw, a thready hiss on his tongue. “That’s good.”

Less than a moment later, the butt of his axe connects with the shaved down side of Ubbe’s head. Ubbe drops like a heavy weight just as an unholy squeal slips from your lips. Little Skari reflects your fearful noise. Vapnir replaces his axe on his belt, rocking his grandson with great pride.

“Fadir you beat him!” You collapse in front of Ubbe, dragging his head onto your lap. Vapnir motions a thrall to fetch some of the water and a cloth for you to use as you lean over him, pressing your fingers to the side of his neck to ensure he was breathing still.

“He isn’t dead. What did you really think I would let the sons of Ragnar catch you in your nakedness?” He means the moment by the waterfall, you quickly realize.

“How did you know about that, fadir?” You ask, stroking your thumbs over his ruddy beard.

“I have my own Muninn and Huginn, (Y/N).” He hands off his grandson to a thrall. You wonder– just who that little Muninn or Huginn might be. Vapnir’s calloused hand falls on the top of his pommel, a sneer on his slender lips. “I have a snake to find.”

* * *

“How long are you going to take?” Ivar can move incredibly fast– but it is always a struggle to do so when men could simply walk in front of him.

“I’ll fucking get there.” He grits his teeth together. His hands are chill with the mud coating his fingers, losing his grip on every rock he tries to take. The brothers had no luck tracking Hvitserk. Largely because of just how long it was taking in the muck and rain of the evening. Sigurd kneels before his little brother.

“Come.” He says, alternating his fluffy blond hair over one shoulder. Beside him, Skane reaches his tattooed hand over to assist Ivar and Sigurd locked as if they were two very hateful insects stuck together. Sigurd shoves himself up on two feet, grunting this time.

“Where should we look now?”

They had thought this dark forest was their best guess. Yet it is eerily quiet with their presence as it has been for some time. At long last– there is a break between the muddy and weighed down steps when they get to the cabin secluded at the top of the hill. It’s closed– but a wamth spills against the heavy doors. He must have been here. Sigurd leans in so that Ivar might knock upon the door. The door opens but a creak– and low and behold, Hvitserk does answer.

“Did Vapnir follow you?” He asks, a fat clump of slushy mud still on the top of his head.

“Yes, we just decided to lead him right to your skinny ass, Hvitserk.” Ivar snarks. The door spreads apart a second later to reveal the sight of not one, but two women sitting on the bed in thin nightgowns. Ivar looks over to Skane who stands like a great wall– unmoved by thing one and thing two’s mischievous little giggles.

“Then again. Maybe I should have.”

Hvitserk allows for his brothers and Sigurd’s strange friend to come in, looking back to the twins.

“It’s not what it looks like.” Hvitserk closes the door behind his brothers, bare muscles flexing. Sigurd drops Ivar into a chair before he sits upon the bed by the giggling girls.

“Oh yes it is!” One says. “Don’t lie!”

“You promised to marry us!”

Skane spits upon the floor at Hvitserk’s feet.


End file.
